


sing, sweet sparrow, songs of sorrow and tragedy (stories from floor 6... kind of)

by SyverneSien



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: 68th Hunger Games, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Alternate Universe - Original, Careers (Hunger Games), Disabled Character, District 3 (Hunger Games), Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderfluid Character, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Self-Insert, Trauma, Victors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:15:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23393119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyverneSien/pseuds/SyverneSien
Summary: The moment Sy stepped onto the train in District 3, he believed that his fate was sealed. He would be horribly murdered in the arena, then shipped back home to a family that didn't care about him in a small wooden box. Only one mentor and a training score of one just made the situation feel more hopeless.Then Sy made it out and, well, he wonders if the six-month recovery period was worth the life he doesn't deserve.An AU of an AU of an AU, so to speak. I just loved this story by WreakingHavoc and so my friends and I thought 'hey, what if our sonas were in this situation?' and wrote a whole crap ton of stuff for it. More information in the foreword.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	1. Arrival on Floor 6

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WreakingHavok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WreakingHavok/gifts).



> Essentially, my friends and I like to come up with AUs for our sonas and make tons of content for them, most of which never sees the light of day outside of our Discord server. For example, just by myself, I've created the Hunger Games AU (this one), the Country Western AU, and the Victorian/Steampunk Murder Mystery AU. We have a Google Doc for all of the Google Docs that we made and it's... very long. I don't remember what the first one was, but we've been doing this for quite some time now. Of course, most of the credit for this idea goes to WreakingHavoc - all I did was change the characters and lore around a bit.  
>   
> Sy'verne Si'en belongs to me. (Yes, I'm disabled IRL. That's what started this concept - I was reading Floor 6 and thought 'what would happen if I ended up in the arena?')  
> Lesin Astercrown belongs to starlit-sapphic on Tumblr.  
> Star Sunwright belongs to thesunguardian on Tumblr.  
> Michi de la Riviere belongs to my-name-michigan on Tumblr.

Sy moved onto floor six nearly half a year after winning the Hunger Games. Between the sheer length of their recovery time from the environment of the Games - not eating, high stress, untreated wounds - and preexisting health conditions, Sy had been in a Capitol hospital since the night they were lifted from the Cornucopia, winner of the 68th Hunger Games, coming out only for a recap of the Games and a pre-recorded television interview. Their District tour had been cancelled, their doctors stating that they were too sickly to appear in person in front of spectators. The only Victor Sy had met before was their mentor, Lesinaidaa Astercrown.

Sy leaned heavily on their redwood cane in the elevator, flanked by two Peacekeepers and accompanied by a nurse. Sickly. That was all anybody ever said about them, whether it was in the Capitol or the Districts. The only Victor in the history of Panem that had achieved a training score of 1. The only tribute in the history of District 3 to be labelled as a failure before they even reached the arena. The only disabled tribute that had ever made it past the first night, nevermind win the Games. The Peacekeepers were there to make sure they didn’t cause any trouble. The nurse was there to make sure they didn’t pass out on the way up.

Many of their doctors had wanted them to stay in the hospital longer or be given their own residence, away from the other Victors. Sy had insisted on being discharged from the hospital before the six-month mark and demanded that they were given a room on floor six. They’d spent too much time isolated and alone to spend the rest of their life that way.

The Peacekeepers marched Sy down the hall to one of the last doors. It had their name on it, embossed in fancy calligraphy. Sy’verne Si’en. Sy realized with a jolt that that would be their name for the rest of time, no matter what anybody had to say about it. The Victors’ rooms only went down one side of the hall, with doors on the other side labelled with things like ‘kitchen’ and ‘sitting room’. Sy could see somebody peeking out of the door next to theirs, but when they turned their head fully, the door clicked shut.

The nurse dismissed the Peacekeepers and opened the door, stepping inside first before holding it open for Sy. After living in a hospital for almost six months, the intense cleanliness of the room shouldn’t have bothered Sy, but it did. Everything in the Capitol was too new, too shiny, too immaculate. Even amongst the pristine machinery back home in District 3, nothing had looked this clean.

“The doctors examined your room before you came,” the nurse informed Sy matter-of-factly. “There’s an emergency call string next to your bed that you can pull if you need help. There’s also one in the bathroom and beside the minifridge. There are electrolyte boosters in the minifridge and a supply of painkillers in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. The phone next to your bed is also wired up directly to the hospital, so call if you need anything. Your morning and evening medications will be delivered to your room through the dispenser on the desk. Take them instantly.” And with that, the nurse turned and left the room, leaving Sy alone in the darkened room.

Sy flicked the lights on and hobbled over to the bed, letting their cane fall to the carpeted floor with a muffled thud. They cradled their head in their hands and let out a long sigh. They’d been begging to be discharged from the hospital for months, but they weren’t sure this was better than the hospital.

There was a knock at the door, startling Sy. They snatched up their cane from the floor, wincing as something twinged in their arm, and went back over to it. They took a deep breath and opened it, prepared to stare down whoever was there.

“Hi!” the girl at the door greeted, smiling sweetly. “I’m Star, Star Sunwright, but everybody just calls me Star.” Her frizzy hair bobbed up and down as she spoke. “Welcome to floor six!” Star clasped her hands together and grinned.

Sy shifted their weight against the cane. “What do you want?” Sy sighed, leaning on the doorframe. “I’m honestly just looking forward to sleeping in a proper bed without anything stabbed into my arms, so if you could go away and let me…”

“You’re the sick one, right?” Sy winced, but nodded and let Star keep talking without interrupting her. “You’ve been in the hospital for so long! I was really looking forward to getting a new floormate because most of the others are really quiet, but then you never showed up. I was getting worried.” Star’s smile never faltered for a second. “You’re okay now, right?”

“I never have been, am not, and never will be okay,” Sy grunted. “Any more stupid questions you want to ask?” Sy moved the cane again and watched as Star’s eyes darted to it, then back up to Sy’s face.

“What happened?” Star demanded. “I don’t think any other Victor has ever had a recovery time that long!”

“I was born this way,” Sy pinched the bridge of their nose. “Can you go away and let me sleep, sunshine?” Sy was being grumpy for no reason, they knew they were. They’d apologize tomorrow, they promised themselves.

“Breakfast is at 7:30 in the kitchen-dining room,” Star informed them. “I’m making waffles. Don’t be late, or Michi will have eaten them all. That girl’s an eating fiend!” Star declared, then disappeared into the room next door. Oh. So it had been Star staring at Sy earlier.

Sy went back to their bed and collapsed onto it, staring up at the ceiling. They flicked the lights off and didn’t bother getting undressed, simply crawling under the covers and trying to sleep. It was more difficult than Sy remembered, with no medication to help ease their slumber. Perhaps now that they were in a proper bed, they wouldn’t wake up howling tonight.


	2. Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lesin watched the Games not because they wanted to, but because they had to.

Sy was alive.

The bloodbath was over and he had escaped. Lesin had watched the whole thing with their hands over their mouth. Apparently, Sy could run, though he had probably stopped just inside the thick forest. It was dense, with lots of cover. That was one thing they’d worked on before the Games. Staying hidden. It was Sy’s only skill.

Sy was alive.

It was the first night and he had hidden well. He hadn’t risked climbing a tree but had instead gone for a large bush with no berries on it, covering himself with a thick layer of mud and leaves so as not to be seen by any tribute. He was shivering, but Lesin knew he could survive the night. Sy had a high constitution, after all, from years of struggling just to survive being alive.

Sy was alive.

He’d found a lake on the second day, far away from any other tribute. He’d made friends with many of the others before the Games - being a Career gave him the advantage of being able to talk to everybody - but he didn’t know which friendships would last. Lesin thought that it was wise.

Sy was alive.

Many others weren’t.

The death count continued to rise.

Sy made his first kill using rocks. It was a lucky shot.

Sy was alive.

Arena traps were triggered, driving the tributes closer together as their numbers dwindled. Lesin watched with bated breath as Sy teamed up with Egret from District 4 and Shae from District 11. Shae died in a trap where a whole area of the arena cracked and fell apart, revealing a layer of lava. Lesin hated the way he screamed. Egret was shot through the heart by one of the District 6 tributes. Sy jumped on her out of a tree and stabbed her in the throat. Lesin was proud, though they didn’t want to be. Sy claimed the District 6 girl’s bow and, with a fury that only came from having friends in the arena and losing them, started to rain hell on the other tributes. The first few kills were sloppy, but Sy soon settled into the routine of using a ranged weapon, gritting his teeth and bearing through the pain of drawing it.

Sy was alive.

Sy was more than alive.

Sy could afford to slow down. He started to receive sponsorships, including painkillers that Lesin had been noticing that he had been feeling withdrawal effects from not having. He didn’t actively pursue the other tributes, but when one managed to find him, which was hardly ever, they were met with an arrow in the neck, head, or heart. Lesin watched his kill count and the number of dead tributes rise, wondering what the Capitol had done to their little bird.

Sy was alive.

It was the final night. Nobody knew that it was going to be the final night, of course, but Lesin had a sneaking suspicion when they saw Sy realize that he wasn’t going to last much longer. Lesin had never seen Sy hunt tributes before - that was for the other Careers, not Lesin’s sweet sparrow - but once they did, they knew they would never unsee it. Sy couldn’t climb trees, but that didn’t seem to be an issue. More gifts rained from the sky, as Lesin allowed them. As Sy’s mentor, they could withhold or send gifts as they desired.

Sy was alive.

Twenty-three other children were dead.

Sy had killed nine of them personally, and one indirectly.

Lesin’s robin had become a hawk.

As soon as he was lifted from the arena, there were knocks on Lesin’s door. They ignored Star, Michi, and all the others on floor six as they were escorted to a stylist. Lesin hadn’t been dressed up like this since their Games. They let the stylist work with a blank expression on their face. They didn’t want to speak. They refused to when a television host tried to interview them in the aftermath of the Games. Sy was indisposed, the doctors said. Lesin expected the worst.

Sy was alive.

That was all Lesin was told, three days after the Games. Alive, and being treated in the hospital reserved for high-end celebrities, members of the government, and Victors. Lesin tried to visit. The doctors wouldn’t let them in.

Sy was alive.

Lesin had marched back every day since the first, each time accompanied by different residents of floor six, occasionally alone. The doctors didn’t let Lesin in until a full month after the Games (Lesin was counting the days), and then only them. The other residents of floor six had to leave.

Sy was alive.

His breathing was steady but his face was pale and contorted in pain, even in sleep. Lesin wanted to hold his hand, to reassure him that everything would be okay, but they were scared to hurt him more. A nurse chased Lesin out after ten minutes but told them that they could come back tomorrow. Maybe he would be awake by then.

Sy was alive.

It was another whole month (Lesin was still counting the days) until Sy opened his eyes. It wasn’t during Lesin’s visiting time, but he was awake again when they went to see him. Sy mumbled something about making Lesin proud and apologized for what happened during the Games. It was choppy and hard to understand, but Lesin knew Sy better than anybody, now. It was the first time Lesin had smiled since the Reaping.

Sy was alive.

He was sitting up and able to eat soft foods. He laughed sometimes but never smiled, even when he was loopy on painkillers. The doctors said it was a miracle that he’d managed to survive. Sy just laughed and said that he was used to it. Lesin didn’t like his humour anymore.

Sy was alive.

The doctors had insisted that Lesin limit their visits to only once a week so that Sy could focus on his recovery. They were trying to get him out of bed, they informed Lesin. They needed to teach him how to walk again. Soon he’d be able to breathe without help. They still didn’t even know what was wrong with him. Lesin wanted to make them find out.

Sy was alive.

He had to relearn how to live. Even after months of physiotherapy, he relied heavily on a cane and could barely do anything without becoming short of breath or screaming in pain. Lesin thought that it was bad that they had him drugged up on painkillers all the time. Then they heard him scream and thought otherwise.

Sy was alive.

Five and a half months later, he was discharged from hospital, to join Lesin and the others on floor six. Lesin didn’t want to see him. They didn’t want to see him struggle to walk out of the elevator, didn’t want to see him unable to carry on even a brief conversation with Star without leaning on both the doorframe and his cane, didn’t want to hear him wake up screaming during the night, didn’t want to hear him ask for help with every little thing, didn’t want to watch him wince whenever anybody so much as brushed his arm, didn’t want to see him struggle to be alive. Sy insisted that he’d been the same before the Games. Lesin knew it wasn’t true. He was much, much worse. And they were scared of hurting him.

Sy was alive.

Lesin finally spoke to him. He gave them a hug, which surprised them. He’d been avoiding physical contact since he arrived on floor six. It must have hurt. Lesin appreciated it twice as much for that.

Sy was alive.

And Lesin was glad.


End file.
